


The Taste Stays On My Mind

by by_no_one_more_than_me (Lady_Cleo)



Category: Spy (2015)
Genre: F/M, It's time to save the world again, Movie Spoilers, Trouble In Paradise, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/by_no_one_more_than_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan has a new assignment... and multiple volunteers for a partner</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Assignment

Another Tuesday, another briefing.

Elaine was addressing her agents in her usual blunt rapid-fire. Wright and Cress were playing with a remote controlled spy fly, unaware they were about to get it taken away. Again.

Nancy was texting 50 Cent, who was currently on tour and wondering if his Supa-Tall Shawty could assign herself to the next leg of the tour for some playtime. Ford was bitching about the Face Off machine and tracing obscene words on Susan’s thigh under the table. Susan was trying to concentrate and take notes without shivering and messing up her handwriting too badly. She’d told him they had to keep their relationship out of the office, but Rick insisted on catching her in dark hallways and leaning way too close to read things on her monitor and whispering dirty things on their secured line during combat exercises.

She was about to smack him or just use the Peruvian Death Pinch he’d taught her last week when the door swung open and Bradley Fine strode in, having finally charmed a doctor into signing off on a return to active duty. Susan jumped a little as Ford’s hand tightened on her knee, unaware it was a particularly ticklish spot. Wright and Cress turned to greet him and the spy fly promptly smacked into Elaine’s hair.

Lips compressing into a thin line, she pinned them with a glare and wordlessly held out a hand. Ten seconds passed. Then an eyebrow raised, and Wright shuffled up to the head of the table and deposited the controller in her palm before skulking back to his chair. Elaine tossed the device into her carryall before allowing a thawed smile.

“Welcome back, Fine. Up for a little fun? You’re just in time for new assignments.”

Bradley pulled his eyes off Susan – looking radiant in a saffron wrap top and auburn curls – to offer the boss a smooth grin in return. “Anywhere you want me, boss. I’m just glad to be back in one piece.” He settled into a chair across from his former partner and fiddled with a cufflink while Elaine pressed a button and called up mission specs.

“Jasper de Sucre – French pastry king. His high-profile clientele include chefs, restauranteurs, heads of state and recovering supermodels. The Shah of Iran came out of hiding just to order 3 dozen of his _macaron de caramel au beurre salé_. He was commissioned to supply dessert for an international gala, and word arrived this morning of a death threat unless he agrees to assassinate one of the guests.”

A few taps to the keyboard brought up a swirling array of suspects, including a man dressed entirely in purple and a woman with henna-dyed hair feeding a bonbon to a heavy-set, heavily decorated member of a foreign military service.

“Most of our players are already on the guest list, and they have ties to everything from Broadway to black market arms. Cooper, I’m sending you in as Georgette Balentis, heiress to a cocoa fortune. We’d been setting up a cover for an agent to attend anyway, just to keep an ear on things. You love sweets, hate animals, and have had a string of discreet love affairs.

Your clothing allowance is being cleared as we speak. Mostly stuff like that dress you went rogue in the night you picked up Rayna Boyanov." Susan blushed at the mild scold. "Nancy will be your analyst; you just need a partner to pose as your latest boy toy. He’ll escort you to the party and watch your back. Any volunt-”

“I’ll do it” Ford’s voice rang out, competing with Fine’s “Well, if Susan wouldn’t mind…” The men broke off, squaring off over the conference table. Susan watched with rapt attention, ignoring Nancy’s fluttering semaphore in her periphery.

Fine attempted a smile, his tone level and friendly. “Excuse me, Ford, but Coop used to be _my_ analyst. I’d like the chance to watch her back, especially on a cupcake detail like this. It’s a good ‘welcome back’ assignment for me,” he concluded, subtly gesturing to his healed shoulder.

Ford growled, his hand detaching from Susan’s leg to plant on the polished hardwood. “Scuse _me,_ Fine, but I was the one who had Susan’s back her first time in the field.” She opened her mouth to dispute that he had been rude, brash, arrogant, occasionally insulting, and mostly ineffectual her first time in the field – until his leg pressed against hers and she figured it’s the thought that counts. “I’m also qualified Cordon Bleu, survived a poison fondue night, and had the print burned off this finger” he flipped Fine the bird to demonstrate “with a brulée torch.”

Elaine moved to diffuse the situation before it devolved into a complete pissing match. “Ford, I’m sure you’re more than qualified but I think this one is more in Fine’s wheelhouse. Your call, Cooper.”

Ford turned to Susan, having a silent conversation via telepathy and eyebrow gestures. She tried to telegraph an _I’m sorry- please understand_ just before the words “Fine. I’ll take… I’ll take Fine” popped out of her mouth, giving their boss a weak smile.

Rick was on his feet before his chair hit the wall, crying foul and every bloody time and how this is all manner of BS as he stormed out. Only Susan caught the razor blade he spat in a low tone- “At least _I_ never slept with the enemy.”

It stung but she could make it up to him later. Right now, she had a job to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan gears up and takes off... and lands somewhere unexpected.

Gearing up for her recent assignments has been far more pleasant (and with infinitely cooler toys) than her first time. No poison antidote disguised as stool softener. No chloroform hemorrhoid wipes. And thank God, no cat shirts.

Now she has a trunk full of beautiful designer clothes, and high heels with concealed lockpicks, and a trip to the salon to return her hair to the flowing brunette it had been in Rome. Now she has knockout lipstick, and paintable gelignite disguised as nail polish, and Gucci sunglasses with X-ray and night vision settings.

Now she has one of the finest men in the world on her arm, pretending to adore her. It doesn't feel as good as she always hoped it might. Maybe because she knows it's not real. Maybe because she just knows better now.

For all his gruff exterior, Ford loves to cuddle, and cooks her dinner, and rubs her feet. He's a man of few (true) words but whether risque or romantic, what he does say tends to leave her breathless.

And Fine is... Fine. Always has been. Not always good to her (or for her) but usually the best. And now they're working together again, and maybe it's all the time on the other side of the earpiece but it doesn't feel the same either.

For the first two hours of the flight, Fine naps (and leave it to him to look perfect even when he's unconscious) while Susan thumbs through Skymall and toys with her phone and tries not to nibble at her manicure. After Fine wakes up like a romantic lead, the next hour is spent catching up on the minutiae of their cover story - how long have they been together, how hardcore should the flirting be, the particulars of PDA. Fine (or rather Malcolm Reynolds, yachtsman playboy turned occasional smuggler) uses the remainder of the trip to crack jokes and share stories and get her to smile and loosen up, taking her hand or brushing her hair over the shoulder of her blue and white sundress with a practiced casual ease.

When they disembark at Charles de Gaulle - already in character in case anyone is watching - Susan giggles just right and manages not to blush when he kisses the corner of her mouth and offers his arm. The driver is one of theirs and the windows are tinted so Susan drops the smile and slides out of his reach as soon as the door closes.

At the hotel desk, she is confident after noting the curious glances of a few people of interest dotted about the lobby and slips into seductive- toying with his lapel, drawing a finger down his shirt and skimming his rather sculpted behind as she wraps an arm around his waist. It's not lewd or even overt- simply clarifying that yeah, they're together.

They ride the elevator with Generalissimo Blanco _(18 years in the Suriname army, weakness for bonbons)_ and his aide and translator Angelina Fatale _(32, speaks 5 languages, macrobiotic, closet Lakers fan)_ who eyes Fine with speculative interest from her perch on the decorated man's arm. He treats her to an incline of his head and a wink before tugging Susan imperceptibly closer.

The lavish accommodations in their suite barely register as Susan peels out of Fine's hold, kicks off her heels and flops on the bed with a little 'ooph.' They have an hour until the welcome luncheon and she needs to rest.

The mattress dips as Fine drapes himself beside her and traces the curve of one cheek with a callused fingertip. "What's up, Coop?"

Fighting back a shiver at his touch, Susan keeps her eyes closed and gently swats in his direction. " **I** am, and I have been since yesterday." Rolling away from him, she curls onto her side and tucks a hand under her cheek. "Five minutes, okay, Fine? Just... just five minutes."

He stands without another word and she waits for the pad of retreating footfalls, the click of the door. She's expecting him to leave, to go flirt with someone or gather intel or check in with whoever is in his ear now. She's **not** expecting him to lay back down in stocking feet and minus his jacket, and curl around her like he belongs there.

The last thought that slips through her sluggish brain is that she wasn't expecting to feel like she belongs there, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Chapter 2, and more on the way. You guys have been exceptionally nice and enthusiastic in your responses to my lastest fandom obsession. I will be replying to comments the next time I'm in town and have a solid Wi-Fi connection.  
> Notice: This is going to be an "update when I can" fic. I have it almost done, just tweaking a bit here and there. However, aside from typing on my phone (which I can manage for shorter chapters) I don't have internet access where I work, so transferring my already written stuff is tricky unless I take the risk to tap it out again.  
> But you have my word I absolutely will get the thing posted quick as I can.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunchtime, in which things are learned... and felt

The only things of note at the luncheon (besides a Snapper Bilbao she'd kill to have the recipe for) are that Angelina seems quite willing to have Fine cozy up to her, a new suspect will be arriving shortly before the premier dinner, and Susan apparently looks phenomenal in red.

Most of the clothes she'd pawed through while getting dressed (following her surprisingly refreshing nap) are reminiscent of flavor and spice. Silk tunics in sage and saffron and lavender, vibrant wrap dresses printed in blood orange and plum, formal gowns in cinnamon and chocolate and golden damiana. There's black and white liberally splashed through as well, in the form of contour lines and shape-shifting colorblock.

After a few minutes' oohing over her wardrobe (and wondering how much she can keep after the assignment ends) she pairs cropped black leggings and peep-toe Louboutins with classy silver jewelry and a poppy red bias cut tunic that laces corset style up the front. The effect is sensational, if Angelina's sour pout and Blanco's less than subtle glances at her cleavage are any indicators. Even Fine had looked a little stunned when she'd stepped into the sitting room, leaving a momentary gap between seeing her and smoothly offering his arm.

In between courses, he traces little patterns on the back of her hand while they chat with their tablemates, and drapes an arm over her chairback to answer the Generalissimo's query, and plucks a rose from the cropped centerpiece to thread into her hair. He's playing the part to perfection- except that it's driving Susan to distraction.

They turn down the suggestion to walk off the meal on the beach (Fine implying they have their own way of burning calories) but accept an offer to meet up later for drinks. Fine escorts Susan into an elevator and almost instantly presses her into the wall. Her green eyes go wide as he swoops in, one large palm braced against the wall by her head, the other sliding down to cup her hip. Her hands fly to his shoulders to... what? Push him away? Or draw him closer?

They're so close his features are blurring together, her lips tingling as his breath ghosts over them. They're so close her breasts are brushing his chest with every shallow pant. They're so close if either of them puckers they'll be kissing. 

Then the car begins its ascent and Fine pulls back slowly, tugging already impeccable lapels into alignment, smoothing back that little lock of hair that always falls over his forehead. Susan is afraid to move just yet, unsure her legs will hold her up. Fortunately, she can speak.

"Wha...what was _that_ all about?" she manages in a tone so airy she surprises herself. She decided on the plane "Georgette" is confident throaty chuckles and Lauren Bacall huskiness - even if it is kinda killing her vocal cords. At the moment, she sounds full-on Jennifer Tilly.

Fine clears his throat (and is he actually _fidgeting?!_ ) before answering in that quick, too bright 'of course I'm not lying' voice she always hated hearing in her headset. "One of the targets was about to step into the lift. I figured if he thought we were... occupied, he might rethink it."

"Oh. Of course."

_'Of course I turned in the report. Of course I signed the director's card from both of us. Of course I remembered my allergy meds. Of course I didn't forget your birthday, Coop.'_ The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach has a similar effect on her racing heart, and she forgets to wonder why he'd lie about his motives for pinning her to the wall.

They get back to the room and instantly separate: Fine to the sitting room to check in, Susan to the bedroom to check her phone. No texts aside from a few 'just in case' security codes. No missed calls; she doesn't bother hoping for a voicemail. The only update from Nancy is that Ford had been snagged at the airport trying to board a noon flight to shadow her, and was currently being chided in Elaine's office. Susan's heart sinks a little further at the misguided show of affection.

What is a spy to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm trying to get a new chapter up every 4 days or so, but will not leave you hanging more than a week. X my <3.
> 
> Up next, some wet fun...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan makes a splash...

Poolside seems the place to see and be seen in the pre-cocktail hour, so Susan forces down the flutter of nerves as she gives herself a final once over. Wide black hat, oversized shades, tailored red one piece with flattering black panels and a classic design that makes her more pinup than plushy, a sheer robe that masks her thighs and emerging biceps, and stylish black wedges that show off the polished perfection of her pedicure. 

She walks out before she can fashion a bedsheet muumuu.

Fine has stuck close to the Generalissimo's translator since the elevator incident, and is currently lounging in board shorts and an unbuttoned short sleeve that shows off his tanned, toned stomach. He'd waxed his chest, saying it made him look younger, and Susan has to admit it does... as does the slinky Angelina, wearing a bikini that matches her hair and fingering one of Fine's buttons.

Squaring her shoulders and strutting like she owns the damn world, Susan spots the new arrival under an umbrella at the far edge of the sparkling water and mentally reviews his dossier as she saunters over to sit down. She's so focused on the particulars _(Gianni Morcombe - originally Morricone but changed after formative years getting an expensive English education; 43; chef & restaurateur; allergic to caramel; scar on temple from exploding soufflé dish)_ that she misses the appreciative glances being thrown her way by most of the men - including Bradley Fine.

Despite the warm weather Gianni is wearing a 3-piece Valentino and Panama hat and sipping a cup of tisane, tapping at a BlackBerry with his thumb. Susan adopts a little pose by the unoccupied chair opposite and clears her throat.

"Bonjour... or should I say _buon giorno_?" Gianni's eyes flick to hers a moment, then snap back to run down to her toes and back again. Hastily standing, he moves to hold the chair for her.

"You may say anything you like so long as you continue speaking, bella." Susan gives the 'oh stop' hand drop, which he captures in his palm. He kisses her hand and releases it to sit back down. "Permit me to introduce myself. Gianni Morcombe. I-"

Created _La Donna Giusta_. Five locations- Florence, Paris, New York, L.A., and Las Vegas - and considering a sixth expansion soon. Home of the famous Sugar Tower, winner of two James Beard awards - but you need to get some new chocolate on the menu." Gianni's eyes widen, then narrow, then light up as he lets out a hearty laugh.

"Right to the heart, cut through the bullstock - I like it! You must be _Signorina_ Valenti. I had been hoping to meet you." Susan doesn't bother correcting the mispronunciation of her alias and favors him with a smile to return the compliment. " _Grazie, bella_. You flatter. In fact, I had been hoping for-" Breaking off, his eyes shift behind her, a different smile appearing for the arrival. "Your pardon, amore, but my new assistant has the knack for arriving at the, how you say, _momento sbagiato_."

"Wrong time?" Susan volunteers, hoping her translation is close. "Or more... inopportune moment?" she flirts, lowering her voice and leaning in a little.

Gianni swallows, not quite managing to keep his eyes out of her décolletage before stammering out a "S-s-si, prego. Just so. Ahem. Permit me to introduce Alfredo. A crazy man behind the wheel, but he gets me where I need to go."

Turning her head, Susan finds herself looking up into the eyes of - "Aldo?!" Recovering with a blink and cough, she tries again. "Forgive me. I... do little... nicknames like that, shorten people's names. Aldo, Mal... Shaq. Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Alfredo." The man in question (and oooh he better have a good answer later for what the hell he's doing on her assignment) bends down to drop kisses on both cheeks before going after her mouth. Again.

Jumping out of reach, she almost ends up sprawled on the ground - only to land in Fine's waiting arms. He sets her on her feet and gives Aldo a withering glance. "Excuse me," he directs to Gianni, " but where I come from, we don't let pets jump up on a guest."

Susan sets a hand on his chest, trying to focus on smoothing the situation instead of the smooth skin beneath her palm. "It's alright, Mal _honey_. He was just being... Italian."

"Hmph. I'd say insulting." Fine seems far more upset than she does, like he wants to pop Aldo in the jaw or something equally chivalrous and stupid.

Gianni steps in to apologize as well, but Susan waves it off. "It's alright, really. Perfectly harmless."

" _Signorina_ , you are too kind." Aldo snatches her hand and begins pressing grateful (and damp) kisses all over it. In a flash, Fine has his wrist in a manacle grip and about 3 feet of space between them. 

"Can't you keep this greyhound in check?" he flings at Gianni, along with Aldo's wrist.

Susan tamps down the urge to roll her eyes. _Good night, Irene - Ford would've been more subtle._ He's pushing the line of affronted boyfriend a bit far for her taste, particularly in light of the adoring assistant sidling into a front-row seat by the water. _"Fine."_ She blinks at the slip, then offers the Italians a wan smile and lays a hand on Bradley's bicep. "It's... it's fine, okay? And stop calling him names."

"Why? He's putting his paws all over you and trying to lick your face."

And that quick, Aldo reaches the end of his tether. "Better a loyal affectionate canine than a shaved horny ape!" He punctuates the insult with a shove, which throws Fine off balance, which dominos to Susan - which sends her teetering back on her wedges. All three men reach for her and all three miss... as well as missing the little tap from Angelina's foot.

 **Ker-SPLASH!** Susan emerges like a spluttering siren - dripping wet, alluring and pissed. She tries to draw a deep breath to regain her composure... only to snort a few lingering droplets into her nasal cavity. Angelina's peals of shrieking laughter burn almost as bad as the chlorine, but Susan keeps her head high as she slips off her soaking shoes and wades to the tiled steps. Gianni offers a steadying hand and Aldo stands nearby with a plush robe. He settles it on her shoulders without so much as a leer, and she turns to thank him just as Fine shakes off Angelina's talons and walks over with a towel.

"No thank you. I'm fine."

Bradley tries again when Gianni insists on replacing the sodden footwear. "I'll take care of it."

"Actually, no," Susan counters, pushing back a few damp locks. "I don't think you will."

"And truly, signore, it is no trouble, especially when it was-"

"All my fault," Aldo concludes with a sheepish smile.

"But she's with me," Fine protests, eyea pleading.

Every no-nonsense heroine Susan had ever seen on a silver screen lends a little spine and fire to her voice. "Not if you keep acting like this, I'm not," and breezes over to the waiting Italians. Threading her hand through the crook of Gianni's elbow, she lets Aldo take her shoes and leaves Fine standing in a puddle of confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys are getting a new chapter a bit early, but then the last one was a day late. So it balances or something.  
> The next chapter is actually the aftermath of this one, but since *this* one is already 1200+ words that I'm transcribing on my phone (one tedious letter at a time)... well I would do anything for the fandom. But I won't do THAT. :) if nothing else, hey- more chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan gets presents: flowers, chocolates.... a heaping helping of confusion

Fine is pacing the suite like a caged panther when Susan storms in three quarters of an hour later, far more dry, only slightly less upset. She's stopped short by Fine sweeping in to wrap her in a crushing side hug.

"Coop! Thank goodness. Where have you been?"

Three oddities battle for primary attention, but all three are colluding to keep her from breathing enough to answer. First, Fine is hugging her. Tightly, like she's been gone for a year instead of less than an hour and he's scared she'll vanish into thin air if he lets go. _Or like he's really my lover and we've really been fighting and he really missed me,_ her mind suggests. Which makes about as much sense as the fact that he's wearing nothing but a relieved smile and a towel around his slim hips. Which she only realizes because while one arm is banded around her back and clutching her hip, his bare bicep is in front of her nose as a hand cradles her head against his - yup - completely bare chest.

So that's two.

The third impossible thing (only three to go, but it's long past breakfast and she should probably be focusing right now) is a lavish bouquet of flowers that she can just make out over the horizon of muscle. Triumphant stargazer lilies in fuchsia and periwinkle, sparkling white roses and lush greens flow out of a blue crystal vase. A tiny white card peeks out like a timid hunter in a jungle, and Susan's fingers itch to read it.

"Coop?" Fine's voice is gentle with concern as the vibrations rumble through her.

Oh. Right. She's still in Fine's arms, and it appears the toll is an answer to his question. At least her reminder about his allergy meds stuck; she's afraid of a sneeze at this range even if he is unarmed. Which she needs to be. 

"I'm fi- I'm...okay." She ducks out of his hold and goes to get the card. "Aldo ran out to get another pair of shoes, so I still don't know what he's doing here, and Gianni insisted on replacing my outfit too. I said it wasn't necessary - it was just a bathing suit after all, they're kinda designed to get wet - but he had the salon send someone to fix my hair and we sipped hot chocolate til Aldo came back... Oh."

"What is it?" asks Fine, not having budged from the spot she left him.

_Georgette_

_I decided you were right. Please forgive me. I've been a twat._

_With love, Frank Martin_

 

_"Oi, I do NOT!"_

_"You absolutely do, Ford. And I meant it as a compliment, ya big baby!" She tosses popcorn at him, which he snaps at with a growl._

_"Coopah, I have managed a lot of things in my life - jumping a jet ski over a shark, playing Fur Elise at gunpoint, posing as an amateur five dance Latin champion at Blackpool and coming in second with a dodgy partner and a broken leg. Not my partner - *I* had the broken leg. But I refuse to believe I look like some.... **actor** playing a scruffy courier!"_

_"He's a Transporter, Ford. That's why it's called The Transporter. Besides...I think he's kinda sexy."_

_She shoots him a flirty smirk and he tugs her into his side with a soft grunt and a kiss to her hair. "Whatever, woman. Just play the bloody movie."_

She tears her eyes away from the card, trying to keep her smile from spreading too wide at the fading memory. "Oh I just... Gianni said he was going to send something extra, to apologize. I thought the flowers were it but-"

A sudden rap on the door interrupts and Fine has a Walther 9mm in his palm before she can blink. _Seriously, where did he get that?_ He gestures for her to answer. 

"Who is it?"

"Floor butler, mademoiselle. Ai une livraison pour vous."

She mouths 'delivery' to Fine, who nods and moves with her to the door. The gun is angled against the wood as it opens to reveal a smiling man in uniform holding a carrier bag and a familiar golden box. His gaze swings from Bradley's barely clad state to Susan still wearing her robe. The smile grows a bit as he extends the gifts toward her.

"Oh. Merci beaucoup," Susan offers, along with a smile and a 20 euro note from her pocket before Fine closes the door. She sets the bag down, for the moment uninterested in the sartorial contents, and focuses on the box. A tag dangles from the shimmery ribbon - _dolce per la dolce cuore_ , signed with a flourishing GM. Susan pops the lid off and oohs over the selection of truffles. A dark chocolate raspberry is halfway to her mouth when Fine grabs her wrist. "What are you doing?" she asks, transferring the treat to her other hand. He grabs that one too, their arms now crossing between them. "Fine!"

"It could be poisoned."

She lets out an incredulous giggle. "You can't be serious. They're from Gianni."

"They could still be poisoned," he states matter-of-factly. "He's a target, Coop - we don't know what he's up to."

"He's up to apologizing, Bradley! Which, I'd like to point out, is more than you've done." She leans in to take a defiant bite and he pulls her wrists out of reach. She takes a step in and he does it again. "Knock it off. I want my truffle."

Step.

"Not until you run it through the scanner."

Tug.

No! I don't want radiation in my ganache!"

Step.

"Then at least let me take a bite. If I'm okay after 60 seconds you can knock yourself out.

Pull.

"I was only gonna have one! Wait. You'd be willing to risk poison?" She quirks a Ford-esque eyebrow at him. "For me?"

"Well I'm no 'underground poison-ingesting crime ring' survivor..." His smile is small but honest. "But I am supposed to watch your back. I like you too much, Coop; I gotta keep you safe."

"Tsk. Awwww." She melts into him a little. "Nice try, Fine. You just want one of my Godivas." She makes a dive for the now warm chocolate and almost has it when Fine yanks one more time - and sends them toppling onto the bed. She lands on top of him with a squeal and he plucks the truffle put of her fingers, holding it just out of her reach. "Give it back!" Balancing one hand on his unscarred shoulder, she stretches up trying to catch his wrist.

"It's for your own good," he crows, wrapping his free arm around her to hold her still.

She looks down to scold him and freezes when she see Fine's chin nestled atop her more than ample bosom. Her robe has wiggled open a bit in the struggle, and it's not the only displaced fabric if the length of bare leg she has wedged between his muscular thighs is anything to go by. His fingers are flexing against the side of her ribs and his thumb is making a little circular motion she doesn't think he's aware of.

There's a strange tension so thick she could cut it with a plasma torch and Susan fights the urge to squirm. Somehow it just doesn't seem like a good idea.

What does, however, is changing the bizarre dynamic. **Now.** So Susan settles, reels in her hand and taps a chocolate coated index finger against the tip of Fine's nose with a smile. He surges up and licks the pad clean. 

_So much for that idea_ , she thinks with a gulp. Time dilates as they lay there staring at one another, each trying to read the other's inscrutable expression, and Susan resisting the sudden impulse to kiss the stain off Fine's nose.

Finally, Fine breaks the silence. "I think it's safe."

"What?" she breathes, distracted by the involuntary curl of her fingers along his collarbone.

"The chocolate. It's been... a while and I'm not dead, so I think it's safe." The truffle is a melted blob but he offers it to her anyway. "If you still... want it."

"No." She draws in a deep breath, almost losing it as the action presses their bodies closer together. "No I, uh, I think I'm good." Fine gives a little shrug that nearly tumbles her onto his chest and pops the thing in his mouth, sucking his fingertips and chewing thoughtfully. "Is...is it okay?"

His now clean hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades as he answers so much more than has been asked. "Yeah. It's good."

Covering her mouth with a soft fist, Susan starts to nibble on her thumb and tastes unexpected sweetness. There's still a smear of rich chocolate across the pad.

"Want me to get that for you?" Fine asks beneath her. It's an odd tone for him- a teasing edge lining something she can't quite put a finger on.

She scrapes the fingerprint over her teeth and hastily swallows, presenting the now clean digit in a lame thumbs-up. "I got it." It must be a trick of the light that he seems disappointed. "Well we gotta scoot soon and you're already...ahem, clean, so I'm just gonna go... freshen up before dinner." She rolls off him and onto her feet, yanking the tie of her robe resolutely closed and firmly ignoring the sight of Fine on display as she sweeps into the bathroom.

Adjusting his towel (among other things) and uncomfortably grateful that Cooper hadn't commented on his sudden... state, Fine flops back on the mattress with a sigh - only to jolt back up when something sharp jabs him. A small white envelope with a slightly bent edge is lying on the rumpled bed.

Fine's eyes flick to the closed door, listening to the running water and Susan humming a pop song, then slips the card out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So I'm doing a little mental math, and this is either the halfway point or just beyond. (I know- I'm sad too.)
> 
> Your comments have been wonderful and your response to this fun little fic has been overwhelmingly cool.
> 
> Next up: you've seen Pretty Woman, right?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan has a Pretty Woman moment...

Not wanting to waste the salon fix, Susan had pinned up her hair and just rinsed off. She takes her time patting herself dry, rubbing the lush hotel lotion into her skin, smoothing her hair with a touch of serum so it falls into perfectly ordered tousled curls, and applying some appropriate cosmetic enhancement before slipping into her outfit for tonight.

Nancy has promised to be quiet in her ear unless strictly asked, as long as she can see Susan in her gown. Careful not to smudge her makeup as she pops in the camera lens, Susan blinks to settle it properly and turns to the bathroom’s mirrored wall to show off. The gown is chocolate satin tattooed with an elusive design in scrolling silver. Drapes and folds and little tucks add structure, while the color brings out the emerald glow in her eyes and enhances her skin to a creamy finish. Chocolate diamonds peek through the sable highlights in her hair, and a solitaire winks from her finger. She looks like some lush Roman deity: Dulce, goddess of truffles.

“Now I just have to pick shoes.” She holds up two pairs for consideration: dusty gold stilettos the exact shade of a Godiva box, and strappy silvered cages with a sturdier heel. Nancy offers her opinion, and Susan eventually settles on the silver shoes. They’re easier to move in if it comes to that, and the gold would’ve clashed anyway.

“You look marvelous, Susan. Have fun, and be safe. If there’s a buffet, bring me back something tasty.” The spy just rolls her eyes. “Alright – radio silence in 3, 2, 1.”

She heads into the sitting room to find Fine living up to his name. Instead of a traditional tux, he’s wearing an expertly cut suit the color of brushed steel, with a black pocket square and tie embossed in a silver filigree pattern. And he has his hands behind his back.

“Coop.” One hand swings out to land over his heart like he’s recovering from a hit. “You’re a vision.” He gestures for her to spin, appraising as she complies. “Looks good, but I think there might be something missing.”

“Well, to borrow from _Pretty Woman_ I don’t think anything else is gonna fit in this dress, and my clutch is full of makeup. And bullets.”

His other hand emerges bearing a black velvet box. She shoots him a wary look. “Yeah I know. We don’t exactly have the best track record with boxes like these, do we? But if I promise not to snap the lid on your fingers, can I give it to you?”

At her cautious nod he opens the lid, revealing a platinum necklace nestled in red velvet. The entire thing is a series of sedate but sparkling flourishes and fans, with an Art Deco flair – like he’d nicked it in his other work as a time-jumping cat burglar.

“Good gravy, Fine,” she breathes, eyes and mouth wide at the reveal. He lifts the necklace out with a smile and stares at the back a moment, eventually flicking open a hidden catch. She mutely smoothes her hair out of the way as he drapes it against her skin, the cool metal prompting a shiver… or is it the man behind her?

Who after nearly 2 minutes is _still_ behind her? His fingers are tickling the back of her neck and she questions the delay. “Gimme a break, Coop. This isn’t exactly an adjustable toggle.” His breath is stirring a wayward curl at her nape and the shiver is threatening to intensify… when suddenly he utters a satisfied “there!” and fixes her hair over the secured clasp. He steps around to face her and admires the finished product with a strange smile.

“Fine?” Her voice is a timid rabbit- small, soft and scared.

“Yeah,” he breathes back.

“It’s not that I don’t love it, ‘cause I absolutely do.” One hand tries to hold her heartbeat down as she fingers the filigree. “Even if I can’t keep it, I still love it. I don’t think I’ve-”

“Why couldn’t you?” He takes an infinitesimal step nearer, one fingertip tracing the glittering edge and having a bizarre effect on her nerve endings and why couldn’t she keep this again…?

“Isn’t it, ah, like borrowed or, or on loan, or… something?” she ends in a sigh, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyelids from closing. His fingers are sliding up the side of her carotid and _can’t he_ feel _that thrumming pulse_ and then his thumb is sweeping over the apple of her cheek as he holds her face in his palm.

“Yeah it’s something – it’s yours.” Her eyes snap open at that and she’s amazed she doesn’t jump a foot because when had he gotten so **_close_**? “You were right- I hadn’t apologized. And since everyone else was beating me to it, I had to correct that. So while you were in the shower, I snuck a peek at your gown, and went back to this little shop in Marais.” Her lips part – to thank, to protest, to… what? – but he hovers his fingers, careful not to smudge her lipstick as he halts her speech. “I wanted to, Coop. It’s so… you. And the last time I had a chance to get you something that _was_ … so you, I didn’t.” His fingers slide back up to cup her cheek. “I should have,” he whispers, and her hand lands over his heart as the tips of their noses brush.

They’re drawing closer like magnets, and Susan’s eyes are drifting closed again – when a loud rapport issues at the door, startling them apart. “Monsieur, mademoiselle – le gala sur le point de commencer! Allons y!”

A soft chuckle escapes her, well matched with Fine’s rueful smirk as she smoothes her hand down his impeccable lapel. “The dinner’s starting.”

“Shall we?” he offers with the bend of his elbow.

“I think we should,” Susan allows as she tucks her hand in the crook and lets him bear her downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Well well well, isn't our girl in an interesting spot? At least she looks gorgeous.  
> Next up, shall we to the gala?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan discovers a lot of tasty things, and a few that are hard to swallow...

The ballroom is a bustle of elegant color. Champagnes and silvers, plums and peaches, rubies and sapphires and diamonds swirl and glitter under the rich light of a massive chandelier, and Susan feels a nostalgic twinge for her first assignment in the Casino de Roma.

The dinner is sumptuous, with each course topping the last. Over arugula salad and a velvety soup, Fine tells her stories about his first time in the field, a few months before she’d taken over in his ear. “The woman couldn’t translate left and right from monitor to real world – I was certain I was gonna die!” During the shrimp cocktail and Chilean sea bass, they talk about their families. “My mom just got certified as a motivational speaker. God help those kids…” Over sautéed asparagus and melt-in-your-mouth fillet mignon with truffles in wine sauce, they just chat – music they like, movies that make them cry (‘Come on, Coop – _everyone_ cries at _Armageddon_! ‘Yeah maybe at how bad it was’).

They’ve known each other for a decade without ever getting to know each other, and the warming effect feels a bit like a really sophisticated first date. The plates are being cleared – since Chef de Sucre’s special surprise dessert won’t be served for another hour – when they discover their favorite place in Langley is the beach at the Grandview Preserve.

“It’s amazing, right?” Susan gushes. “I love going to watch the sun set.”

“I love walking there in the mornings before I have to head in for briefings. Never seen the sunset though,” Bradley admits, pouring a small measure of Merlot for appearances’ sake before adding, “We should go when we get back. The jet lag might be a bit of a killer, but we can have a little hike and watch the sunset, maybe go out to dinner. Like old times, but better – whaddya say?”

“Why’d you snipe me, Fine?”

He looks startled at the seeming non sequitur, like a student who doesn’t know the answer when the teacher asks. “What are you talking about?” She’s learned a thing or two since that first assignment, mainly from Ford; that sliding eyebrow is almost lethal. Fine swallows hard. “Would you believe me if I said I was just trying to protect you?”

Her expression softens into cautious consideration, as though she _wants_ to believe him, but isn’t sure she can. “I would, but that wasn’t the only reason, was it?”

He opens his mouth to protest, and she hits him with the Eyes. Dropping his gaze and risking a sideways glance, he confesses, “No. Not the only reason. But it was a big part of it. I loved having you in my ear. I meant what I said that night.” He reaches over and takes her hand, a mirror of his actions from the evening in question. In spite of herself, Susan’s heart gives a little flutter. “I couldn’t do what I do without you in my ear. I didn’t _want_ to do what I do without you. So… yeah. I was a little selfish.” The Eyes again. “Okay, okay. A **lot** selfish. I just wanted you all to myself.”

 _You had me all to yourself for 10 years, Bradley_ she thinks, a hint of bitter coating her tongue. She slides her hand out from under his to take a sip of wine.

“But I really _was_ trying to keep you safe,” he continues earnestly. “Where I wan- no. Where I _needed_ you to be. Safe, sound –”

“And in your ear,” she finishes with a mocking salute. At least it plays into their cover after the dust-up at the pool. “And in the basement, and out of your way, and on your hook-” She breaks off when he moves to kneel at her side, one large capable hand cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb catches a rogue teardrop, and the look in his eyes makes her heart crack just a little.

Little does she know the look in _her_ eyes is having a similar effect on him. “Coop… _Susan_ ,” he amends, not caring a whit that he’s on his knees in a very expensive suit. “I really am sorry. I had no idea… how much I was hurting you by holding you back. Or how much you cared.” He follows the curve of her cheek with his knuckles. “Or how amazing you could truly be.”

Nudging a little further into her personal space he hears the soft catch in her breath, watches a little furrow form between her brows and the tip of her tongue paint her lower lip. “Fine,” she whispers, and he feels it against his mouth.

“Forgive me. For all of it. For being a blind idiot and for ever causing you a moment of doubt or pain.” She’s worrying the inside of her lips, and he’s mesmerized by the quiver. “Say you will. Forgive me?” He registers the nod before his mouth lands on hers, and then everything slows down.

Despite the savory palate of the meal they’d just shared, the kiss is improbably sweet and almost chaste. No invading tongues, no passionate probing – just Fine’s lips gently sipping the nectar of Susan’s. She feels the whisper of a thrill – not the electric licks from Ford’s kisses, instead soft like a Shakespeare sonnet – and a little whimper escapes her. Time stretches fine as a cobweb, shivering in its suspension.

It catches up when a hand claps on his shoulder, jolting them apart and Fine has just enough time to catch the adorable look of dreamy confusion on Susan’s face before he looks up at the interruption. Gianni Morcombe is staring down with interest at the scene before him.

“Gianni,” Fine pins on a smile as he smoothly rises to his feet, fingertips trailing over Susan’s face before he offers Gianni a handshake. “I wanted to thank you for your assistance to Georgette… and offer my sincere regrets for earlier. I was inexcusably rude, and I apologize if I insulted you.”

After a moment’s consideration, Gianni replies, “Not at all,” waving a hand to dismiss the thought like an errant fly. “I see you talked your way back into her good books, eh, Malcolm?” Turning to extend a hand to Susan, he draws her hand up and lays a kiss across her knuckles. “And not a moment too soon, _signorina_. I would have tried my luck before dessert.”

Falling back into character with only a slight thud, Susan blinks, then recovers and lets out a low throaty chuckle. “Well, I can’t say I’d have minded the attempt, but I just can’t stay mad at him.” Susan gives Fine an unreadable little look, then slips her arm through Gianni’s. “I don’t think he’s completely out of the doghouse yet, though. Care to try your luck with a waltz?”

Gianni looks only too happy to squire Susan off to the dancefloor, and Fine is left behind, smiling at his quick cover and trying to keep his eyes off her ass as she swishes across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well guys I hate to say it but we're nearing the end. (I know- I'm sad, too.) but you all have been so amazing and I appreciate the love more than words can express.
> 
> There will either be one or two more chapters; I'm a sucker for even numbers, so it'll probably be one long one. Anyway, prepare yourself. Up next, we find out the who, the how, the why... and Susan makes a decision...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan finally gets her man...

The Italian dances the way he talks, with fire and confidence and a silken smoothness. Susan flirts through spins and dips and the occasional lingering hold, trying to keep a covert eye on the room. Four dances later, Susan begs prettily for a glass of champagne, and Gianni escorts her to his table near the bar. A waiter appears, eyeing the pair with decided interest while Gianni requests a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

“Are you sure?” Susan checks. “I thought I spied a _Franciacorta_ – I’d love to try it.” Gianni’s eyes sparkle with approval as he amends the order, the waiter scurrying off a tad eagerly for Susan’s taste. Clearing her throat, she taps the earpiece under the guise of tucking back a curl. “That waiter had such an interesting face. I’m sure it’ll be _running_ through my mind all night.”

A faint crackle precedes Nancy’s “Got it. Scanning the F.R. database” and Susan misses something Gianni says. “I’m sorry. The…” Casting a glance about the room, she looks heavenward for inspiration- and finds it. “The chandelier is so lovely. What were you saying?”

His hands and eyes speak as much as his mouth. “Merely that it is _incredibile_ that I should meet you. Well, a woman like you. No – **you** ,” he decides after a beat. Off Susan’s look of intrigued confusion, he continues. “Do you know why I call my _ristorante ‘La Donna Giusta’_?”

Susan shakes her head, trying to pay attention while puzzling over the waiter’s continued absence. He’s not at the bar, or any of the other tables, or anywhere that she can see.

“Because I never expected to find her, and I wanted to be able to say I had.”

Susan blinks, then remembers what they’re talking about. _Way to keep your head in the game, Cooper_ , she scolds herself. “Who is she? I know La Donna is the woman, but I confess I’m not familiar with _giusta_.”

The waiter’s head reappears beside a pile of henna-dyed curls in the corner across the room just as Gianni responds. “It means right. Correct, proper, the fit for you. I was not seeking perfection or mere beauty – my mother had a gap in her smile and a nose like melted provolone but my father adored her. All I have ever wanted is to find a woman who I could love like that, someone bold and beautiful and smart who adores me – and my food – in return. _La donna giusta per me…_ ”

A telltale prickle starts at the backs of her eyes, and Susan surprises herself with a steady if quiet reply. “I think you will.”

“I thought perhaps I had. If only your heart was not lost to another,” Gianni sighs. Susan is curious how he knows – then realizes he must be talking about Fine. She has no time to answer or question before he brightens. “But it did give me hope. Perhaps I will have her someday, after all.”

The zealous server has finally reappeared, bearing a sparkling Italian wine and a little silver tray. Popping the cork, he pours them each a measure in a Baccarat flute, and presents the tray with a flourish. “A special message from the Shah, monsieur. He sent these mocha macaroons with his regrets that he has been unable to persuade you to add Shiraz to your resume.”

The delicate desserts are inviting, and Gianni’s eyes light up. He offers the first to Susan, who takes a polite nibble. A spreading sweetness coats her tongue, warm and buttery with a trace of salt… _wait. That’s not right. It’s not mocha, it’s–_

“Gianni, no!” She smacks the treat out of his fingers, sending it arcing into the elaborate hairdo of a French dignitary, then whips her clutch at the fleeing waiter. It clocks him in the nape and sends him sprawling into a table. In a matter of seconds she has his hands bound, a text sent, and is apologizing as she fishes the dessert out of the woman’s hair before walking back to Gianni.

He’s staring at her like she’s completely crazy, shaking his tingling fingers with a look of understandable shock. She extends the battered macaroon under his nose with a command to smell it. This seems to reaffirm his new conclusions about her mental state, but he complies when she gives him a pleading look. His eyes go so wide she can see white clean around the irises.

“Caramello salato!”

“Exactly,” Susan says calmly, tossing the offending treat away. A rapid approach behind her has her whirling with an overlooked steak knife – until she spies Fine (gun in one hand, a squirming, profanity-slinging Angelina in the other) barreling towards them.

“Oh. You figured it out, too,” Fine states nonchalantly, as though they’d gotten the final clue in a crossword and not a pair of would-be assassins.

“That he was trying to poison Gianni with a salted caramel macaroon exactly like the _macaron de caramel au beurre salé_ the Shah of Iran ordered last week?”

“Except it wasn’t really the Shah, just someone from his household?” Fine continues.

“Like that one,” she indicates the traitorous waiter with the knifepoint.

“Because he’s dating this one?” Fine hoists Angelina’s arm like a prize trout, and she lets out a squeal of protest.

A chirp is the only warning before the boom of Nancy’s voice resounds in her ear. “Susan! The waiter! FRD spit out a match. It’s quite exciting actually. He’s–”

“Shia-Reza Pahlavi,” Susan says with her, “the Shah’s youngest son. And dating Angelina Fatale, who couldn’t get stationed near her lover unless Gianni opened a new location in Shiraz - which he wouldn’t do. But since his business partner is more amenable to the Shah’s demands…”

“They knew if they got Gianni out of the way, they could have their opening and the Generalissimo would follow like he does to every new location of La Donna Giusta,” Fine finishes with a dazzling grin.

The crowd around them applauds like the audience at a dinner theatre before Nancy reappears as the voice of reasonable doubt in her head. “Does this strike anyone else as a pretty far-fetched scheme just to get her boss to move so they could be together?”

“Oh I don’t know, Nance,” Susan says, a smile playing in the corners of her mouth as her eyes stray to Fine’s. “People do all sorts of crazy things for love.”

As if the universe has a point it is intent on proving, Angelina chooses that moment to drive a spike heel into Fine’s arch, grab a knife from the nearest place setting and run for Susan. Unfortunately, she catches a toe on the sprawled legs of her captured accomplice and goes flying blade first at the plushy agent.

“NO!” Gianni and Fine’s voices create a stereophonic echo as Susan watches the knife move in slow-motion towards her chest. It slams into the delicate metal of her necklace with a muted _plink_ and clatters out of Angelina’s grip before she lands nose-first in Susan’s cleavage and bounces off to her knees.

“Hey dye job!” Angelina glares up at her from the floor. “Next time, don’t pick a fucking butter knife.” Four pairs of eyes flash to the blunt utensil, and the henna-dyed translator gets out two syllables of a particularly nasty insult before Susan hits her with the Peruvian Death Pinch. Her eyelids flutter shut and she slumps to the floor in an untidy heap, snoring like a bear with a sinus condition.

At Susan’s look of confusion, Fine steps to her side, surreptitiously checking her over for injury. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” she takes in a deep breath, mouth pouting adorably. “Ford taught me the Peruvian Death Pinch, but… I don’t think it worked.”

“Oh, if you do it too low, it becomes an Argentinian Slumber Squeeze. You wanna aim for where the shoulder meets the ne- **wait a minute.** ” Fine’s eyebrows jump to his hairline, a little incredulous chuckle coloring his tone. “You were trying to use the Peruvian Death Pinch? On _her?!_ ”

“Well… yeah. She was part of a convoluted, pastry-based assassination plot that could’ve sparked an international incident and killed a very nice man, she tried to kill me, she almost broke my necklace, she pushed me into the pool and she’s been pawing you like a cat in heat since we met her.” Some newly arrived members of the extraction team she’d sent for are carrying out the unconscious Angelina and her hapless paramour, and Susan waits til they clear the ballroom doors before concluding with a completely straight face, “Bitch had to go.”

Gianni and the newly arrived Aldo begin to laugh, and Bradley joins in before sweeping Susan into his arms and pressing a bruising kiss to her lips. When he pulls back, admiring the stars twinkling in her sea glass orbs, he breathes an utterly sincere compliment amid the riotous cheers that have broken out around them.

“Baby, you’re the greatest.”

* * *

That night, Susan absentmindedly fingers her necklace as she plays the kisses over in her mind. After a fond hug and a touch to her cheek, Fine insisted on sleeping on the couch in the sitting room, so she has the bed to herself.

How much of it had been real? How much of it was just so anyone watching would see them making up? Why take it that far if he didn’t have to? Why kiss her again? Why say what he did? Why the hell did she care?

Rolling over with a huff, she flicks on the lamp and stares at the items on the nightstand. Sleeping pills, earbud, novel, cell phone.

She’d checked in with Nancy as soon as they’d gotten back to the room, despite having eyes and ears with her all night. The pills might make her groggy, and despite being in the middle of a very important battle, the book held no interest.

She picks up the cell, toying with the screen and unlocking the gallery. Her and Ford trying a local delicacy- followed by them spitting it out. Her and Nancy shopping for shoes- followed by Nancy ruefully grinning up from the floor. Her and Ford at the laser tag arena (which he called cheap combat training), his arm slung around her shoulders while she poses with her laser gun. Wright and Cress wrestling in a blur over the last piece of her cake, unaware of Ford in the background, shoveling a huge forkful into his mouth with a cheeky grin. A few photos of targets she snapped on location, not deleted after sending them on to Nancy.

Then a photo she doesn’t remember. She’s off center in the frame, mid twirl – hair flared like a dancer’s skirt, a sweet smile on her face. She knows the night- she’d been at Ford’s, dancing in the kitchen while making dinner. Ford asking if he could borrow her phone to check the rugby scores since his was being decontaminated following a risky assignment in Chechnya. Tapping the screen, she looks at information. It’s not still in her SENT file, of course, but the photo had been forwarded to Ford’s phone. He’d had time to snap and send the pic, delete the message but not the photo itself before she snatched her phone to take a call.

The line is ringing before she realizes she’s dialed.

A brief scuffling noise and Ford’s voice finds her ear. “Hey.” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, like he doesn’t care… and like he didn’t just wake up.

“Hey yourself.”

A bit more shuffling and rumbling _(probably sitting up in bed)_ and he’s back. “Heard you got your man.” It might be her imagination, but the statement seems layered. Is he really that worried about her and Fine?

“Yeah. Well, man and woman. Elaine told us to stay and celebrate so we, uh… fly back in the morning.”

He snorts, honest to goodness snorts. “Well, why not? The room’s paid up, innit?” There’s a muffled rasping (he’s running a hand over his face; just tired or… steadying?) before his voice sounds again, sarcastic and a little bitter. “You two have a girls’ night, paint the town _rouge_?”

Her gruff little tiger is melting her heart with the unintentional cute.

“Actually, we came right back to the room.”

Whatever he could say to that he decides against. “It’s after 2 there, Cooper. What’re you doing up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I thought…”

“Yeah?”

“I thought your voice might help.”

“I see.” She can almost see him smile, settle back down in bed. “And what, specifically, were you hoping I’d say?”

Snuggling down herself, she holds the phone a little closer. “Well… you remember that thing you did with your thumb?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well guys, here we are. the end of the line. I've dearly loved writing this and reading your wonderful comments - they kept me going. I promise this isn't the end of my SPY ficcing days - there is more to come, and I'm always open to suggestions.  
> big hugs to you all!

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love this movie, and Melissa McCarthy is both my spirit animal and my new muse.  
> There will be more to come, but comments, kudos, and even suggestions are heartily welcome.
> 
> P.S. for anyone not conversant in French (or pastry) the Shah of Iran came out of hiding for salted caramel macaroons.


End file.
